Open to Interpretation
by VampireHunterExtraordinare
Summary: Eve has many qualities she hates in herself. Chief amongst them? She is a witch. Try as she might, she can't undo that, but an inconvenient knack for seeing people as they are and an unfortunate and deplorable caring personality might do more for her biggest problem than see could ever have guessed. OC/James Potter II. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The letter sits, as it does every year, unopened on my desk. It's mostly covered by a huge old textbook that probably should not be allowed to leave the Bodleian, one yellowed corner poking out. It's been about two weeks since the letter had arrived, and it had had a nice first week moving about downstairs before making its way up, to remind me of my imminent return to reality. It really is no wonder that it 'accidentally' has remained hidden by textbooks, clothes and assorted rubbish for the past few days, a sort of last-ditch attempt to shelter myself from the truth.

I realise then that I was standing in my knickers staring at the one corner peeking out at me, and how crazy that would seem to someone else. I shake my head dramatically and slide into my jeans – burnt orange skinnies. Lovely. Rummaging in a precarious pile of clothes (clean, thank you very much) on the floor, I tip it over onto the littering of pages and force myself to think about the pros and cons of learning German over Spanish as I pick cat hairs from my favourite white lace t-shirt. Pro: sounds cooler. Con: less useful. Pro: Beer trumps wine every time (not that I know, hem hem, underage). Do NOT, under any circumstances, think about what is happening today. Con: There are literally no other cons, German is the way to go. Don't think about how it's the toe in the water of another frustrating year of purgatory. Pro: able to read so many original versions of research papers and stuff. Wait, scientists wrote in Latin for most of history. Shit. School won't be that bad, I've survived this far with the independent study, and I'd done well in my GCSEs without regular school, hadn't I? Pro for Latin: super sophisticated. Con: bit pretentious, perhaps? Pro: Dude, Latin. Come on.

What am I talking about? All I actually get from school is more questions than answers, second hand drama and ridiculous amounts of noise. Con: would literally be able to speak it to six people in the world, total. How is there so much noise? It's a bloody huge place, but somehow there are literally only a handful of places without noise pollution. Pro: Richer understanding of English and language as a whole. There's a huge added risk with frequenting Hogwart's most isolated places where lusty teenage morons are concerned. Con: who on earth would teach me Latin? Ugh, lusty teenage morons are in the top five of my list of most hated types of teenage morons.

I pull the shirt over my head and start to search for my brogues – lovely brown leatherette ones, like the kind John Green wears. I must make sure no one ever finds out that my fashion sense has three main influences: John Green (vlogbrother), Ted Moseby (character) and Carrie Hope Fletcher (it's-way-past-my-bedtime/actress). I also must stop coveting red cowboy boots. Absolutely under no circumstances can I go from nerdy teenage witch and wannabe mathematician to nerdy teenage witch and wannabe mathematician in red cowboy boots. I'll have to scrap the Latin idea, it would make the cowboy boots situation even worse (I know I will eventually get them, but I can pretend that I won't and be perfectly happy in that delusion but I know it isn't true).

Wait now, Arabic. Pro: Super useful, pretty writing. I have one shoe on and tied when I halt my search for the other momentarily to slip into my tweed jacket. I'm practising for when I'm a professor. What university will accept me? Can I put weird magic school on an application? Probably not. There must be some kind of code for it, though, or I could say I was home-schooled. Pro: would aid me in getting a job in MI5, MI6 or the army. No, I couldn't join the army, I'd ruin my cowboy boots in the desert. Stupid cowboy boots, messing up my plans. Fuck you very much, boots.

I swallow my pills and pocket the letter as I chuck the necessary items into my satchel, ranting about those bloody boots. They would know about them if I became a secret agent. That's the sort of embarrassing thing that comes out in background checks. Well, at least I have plenty of time to develop an interest in BDSM. Who am I kidding? The boots would still be infinitely more embarrassing than sexual kink. I don't use infinities lightly, you know. They're almost as big a pain in my hole as those FUCKING BOOTS.

Right, calm. At least few people in school would get the boots reference, and that would certainly add to my mysterious persona. Apparently once you dress like a crazy professor crossed with Grace Kelly (with Doc Martins. I feel like Grace Kelly would approve, somehow) you immediately become seen as odd. Perhaps it's Grace Kelly and Gene Kelly? That makes sense. He's probably where I get my awesome taste in brogues and blazers.

I practically skip down the stairs, because I'm clearly Gene Kelly reborn. I like him way too much. I need tap dancing lessons. Perhaps tap through Arabic? Not something that's offered, probably, but I certainly won't find classes for them, together or separately, at Hogwarts. It is definitely not a balanced education. Bane of my bloody existence.

My Dad makes his usual bad joke about wearing oxfords in Cambridge (I will NEVER call my brogues oxfords. I like brogues so much more, plus I, by default, hate Oxford for being more famous than lovely old Cambridge). I pretty much ignore him and shove the cat out the window while focusing intently on the awesome dance on the desk in _Singin' In The Rain._ Plonking myself down on the kitchen table, I bite down on an apple as I begrudgingly take the letter out. I look at it for a moment, considering the contrast between it and the other most important letter I had received over the summer, which is stuck proudly to the fridge. I wonder if my OWL results will replace my GCSE ones or will I just try my best to forget about them, like the rest of my Hogwarts letters.

My mother arrives in at that point and berates me for my breakfast. I don't bother explaining that eating whole raw fruit and vegetables is just so much easier, and the rarity of my being in the house means that we don't usually have the ingredients required to make good vegan breakfasts. Ah veganism. The greatest excuse for laziness I have yet to come across. Kate crashes into the room halfway through Mum's rant and throws bits of her breakfast at me as she picks at it. I ask her if a pig died just to be thrown at a nearby vegetablist. She retorts in kind and calls me a dork, which is fair enough, but it starts Dad off on a rant about us using Americanisms. It takes a huge amount of effort not to use 'dude' or 'awesome' around him, but that fleeting moment of satisfaction upon hearing the Queen's English adulterated in such a ridiculous manor isn't worth the rant.

It is a testament that Kate doesn't begin to rant about the history of the work 'dork'. She, like me and our other siblings, knows what she wants to be, though the shock that it isn't science almost killed the lot of us. Linguistics is, obviously, preferable to literature, or, heaven forbid, drama or fine art. I never asked for tap dancing lessons for a reason. Kate, subsequently, thinks herself less nerdy than the rest of us, because P versus NP doesn't give her a massive intellectual erection. The rest of us just fail to understand her satisfaction and sense of superiority over this fact. It probably helps prove her point.

The rest of us are science people. We live in Cambridge for a reason; my parents are academics. Dad is a geneticist, which is fairly soft core, since Mum's a mathematician, my brother Mark is doing post grad in quantum physics and the twins are undergrad in theoretical physics. Dorian (I know, great name ruined by Fifty Shades – it doesn't matter that he's called Christian, the surname Grey has now, by default, ruined Dorian for me. I'm glad Oscar Wilde didn't live to see me draw links between his work and porn) has a very unoriginal set of A-levels to sit this year (Maths, physics, chemistry, biology and psychology) and fully intends to study neuroscience, which is the most preferable in biological fields. I come next, Eve, as it must have seemed to my parents as though boys were all they were getting, and they were rightfully optimistic about proceeding children. I fully plan on full maths, though I thoroughly enjoy physics. I'm still the most nerdy, though, because I collect comic books and fancy stand ups more than actors and can talk my way through any episode of an embarrassing number of old sitcoms. Kate likes to annoy me by calling me a hipster, because I like old TV, old films and old youtubers. I like to tell her to go fuck herself. This once happened at some party thing in Peterhouse, my Mum's college, and I nearly gave an old Don a heart attack. He pretty much had a full on panic aneurism when he turned around and I was there, in my docs and a sex pistols t-shirt (It was that kind of day). That was the summer I had purple hair, too. We mustn't forget that.

Kate's only a year younger than me, which means she was an accident, because two years gap is standard fare for my parents. I admire their great aptitude for planning. I like to mention this to her when she annoys me. The standard reply is that I was such a disappointment that they decided to try again sooner. We are quite good friends, which is nice. I put that down to the existence of Damien, because if Kate were the youngest she would be an absolute nightmare. Damien is three years younger than Kate, which goes along with the original plan (Kate is the hitch). He turned eleven and didn't get a letter, which was a great relief to everyone, because it isn't a secret how much I hate the whole thing.

I finally open the letter, carefully peel the wax seal away in one and slide out the contents. That would have been fine, but the train ticket got stuck in the envelope and upon reaching in to get it, I stab my finger on something, leaving a red blot on the envelope. This annoys me so much that it takes me a moment to wonder what had pricked me. I upturn the envelope and a small silver badge falls out.

I stare at it, my finger in my mouth, like a moron, for a very long time.

"Eve," Kate is standing right behind me and I jump, causing the papers that had been in my lap to fall to the floor. She picks them up for me before continuing. "What are you doing?"

"I'm staring at the badge like a moron," I tell her. Accuracy is quite important to me.

"Um, why?"

"Because of the logical conundrum it presents. It means some idiot made me prefect." Kate found this hilariously funny but both parents made loud, approving noises.

I spend the brief exchange with Dorian, in which he expressed his dissatisfaction with being left on baby sitter duty, and the majority of the car journey to London watching a series of horrific and gruesome scenarios flash before my eyes, all possible outcomes of me being a prefect. Kate brings me from my thoughts by slapping me sharply across the face while we were stuck in traffic about fifteen minutes from the Leaky Cauldron, and I spend the subsequent twenty five minutes (ugh, traffic. Welcome to the list of things that have annoyed me today. Meet boots and lusty teenage morons) going over my letter and book list. That time is really spent despairing some more. Prefect. Perfect.

The first hour in Diagon Alley is uneventful. It's a routine we have perfected at this point; my family gaze around them and I trudge with a stormy face, pulling them to where we need to go. Then, in Madam Malkin's we run into Scorpius and his parents, which is fun, as I love him to bits and my parents don't have a clue what to say to wizards, plus they've been reading up on their wizarding history and they sort of know the Malfoy family history, so they are absolutely terrified. I realise that it sounds a bit insensitive, but when you've been involved in a conversation between Draco Malfoy, Scorpius and Albus Potter, you lose all respect for the Malfoy name. I think the innuendo world record must be held by Draco. I sort of want him to adopt me.

Scorpius and I then ditch our parents to find Kate, who had wandered into a junk shop. I make several mocking attempts to set Scorpius up with Kate. He didn't find it amusing, mostly because he fancies Rose so much it makes me want to cry, and I'm not even directly involved. It makes me glad not to be in their year, because not only do I get to play the age card, but I also get to avoid the sincere feelings. My year is all emotionless snogging and vague half-crushes, which, to be fair, usually end in emotionless snogging. Scorpius and Rose are so cute it would probably make me gouge my own eyes out if I was around it all day, every day. As it is, I mostly see them apart. I'm that kind of friend; the one you seek out and speak to one-on-one, but who doesn't really participate in groups.

He tells me about his summer, doesn't mention Rose directly and glosses over his week spent at the Potter household. If being best friends with Albus Potter is anything, it's exhausting. I know because I notice that sort of thing, plus Al himself is exhausted by Albus Potter, and they are the same person, sort of. Well, there's Albus, adorable and hilarious, and the there's Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter and perfection personified. It's the being of Albus Severus Potter that takes up all of Al's time and energy. That's why Scorpius is so overwhelmed by the momentous task that is being Al's best friend; there are two layers to everything that happens, and if you aren't me (I have a weird knack), it takes a lot of effort to catch it all.

Scorpius also skirts over going to visit his grandmother, because he's ashamed that he sort of likes her. She used to be a Death Eater, so he thinks that he should hate her. He doesn't say any of this, but I see it, because I'm looking, because I like and respect Scorpius. When I like and respect people, I do what I can for them, and for that to happen I have to know what's going on. Scorpius also doesn't mention her because he knows she would disapprove of him being friends with me, in all my muggleborn magic-hating glory. He knows that I know this, so he doesn't bring it up, which he doesn't know has exactly the same effect of bringing it up. At least this way he doesn't think I'm uncomfortable, which I'm not, but he wouldn't understand that I think it's okay for his grandmother to think I'm a bad influence on him. I am definitely a bad influence on him, with my violent and revolutionary muggle ideas. He didn't find The Ramones by himself, I'll tell you that much.

He finishes telling me about Al's exploits and asks me about my summer, which I summarise in one sentence – exams, studying and binge watching tv – before breaking the prefect news. Good friend that he is, he laughs his way between Fortescue's and Amaneusis Quills, and good friend that I am, I don't tell him about the ice cream on his nose as revenge.

"You okay to be going back?" Hit the fucking nail on the fucking head right there, didn't he? I stop my refreshingly external rant about how pens are better than quills because I had forgotten how blunt little Scorpy can be.

"I… It's okay, I suppose. It just seems sort of pointless." He rolls his eyes.

"And that is what makes a good prefect; Contempt for the institution, the education and the entire universe."

"I'm beginning to consider demoting you on the friendship scale, Scorpy."

"Please, you wouldn't. I up the sex appeal of your friend group by about seventy per cent. You like balance, so you'd have to drop several not-good-looking people too. Plus you're a pervert, so you would never ever do that to me." That's fucking hilarious, because:

1. My friends are the most ridiculously good looking group of people you can imagine. It's not even novel any more.

2. Scorpius is so in love I no longer can see him as attractive. I know that he is, I just don't see it. At all.

3. I am pretty asexual. I mean, I can acknowledge attractiveness, but only if I'm paying attention properly (read: rarely). I do fancy people, but it's based on personality and literally only happens with people I don't know, so mostly fictional characters and stand ups.

I let that slide because he didn't make a fuss of being called Scorpy, and laugh. I continue to laugh until I walk straight into someone in the doorway of Rosa Lee's teashop. That someone, it transpires, was a pretty grumpy James Potter, who curses at me and stomps off. He's weird that way; I know that he is sometimes happy, because I have seen him smile and laugh around school, but whenever he's by himself – which is when I properly pay attention to people – he is in a foul mood. Maybe it's me. It probably isn't; in my experience, it rarely is. People are too stuck in their own heads to let the presence of strangers affect them that much. I make note to observe him when I see him. It's pretty inconvenient that my friendships with a handful of Weasleys and Al make me want to look out for the rest of them a bit.

Scorpius and I have some tea and chat about the upcoming school year – he still has no plan to make a move on Rose. That's mainly what I gathered. In fact, he tells me as much so many times that I think he might be freaking out about it. I tell him the truth – they are fourteen. They have so much time. It's going to be fine.

On the way to Flourish and Blott's he tells me that usually, James Potter is pretty cool and makes lots of sex jokes, so I would like him. I doubt this, somehow, but I don't tell Scorpius this. He sometimes gets concerned for me because I don't have many friends in my own year. I almost tell him that my third shell of friends is almost entirely made up of fifth years, as well as my first shell, but I don't because me ordering my friends like electrons in my atom is weird, and he won't get it. I also don't have the heart to tell him he's second shell. I don't tell him that I am currently a noble gas (in terms of electrons. Krypton. I'm so weird. Jesus.) and that is nice and stable. I don't want to be an alkali metal because they are unstable, which is bad. I don't say any of this because I am crazy and I don't want him to think I will murder him. I wouldn't do that, it's illogical, and I like him.

We find our parents – mine hidden behind stacks of magical theory books, as I had expected, Scorpius's picking out his schoolbooks. We hug and part, and I don't see any other particularly familiar faces all day, save for James Potter in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, clearly still in a strop. I have to stop Kate from chatting up a random sixth year, and then I have to drag her away from Eeylop's Owl Emporium. She likes to criticize my choice to get a cat rather than an owl. She doesn't seem to grasp that once I finish at Hogwarts, I'll be back in the muggle world permanently, and an owl might be difficult to maintain.

She thinks I'm mental because she would love to be a witch. She would have been brilliant, too. She would have been a Gryffindor, I just know it, and she would have been best friends with Rose Weasley. I'm good at judging these things.

I quite like Diagon Alley, considering it's part of the magical world. It's absolutely crazy and head-wreaking but it's like some temperamental creature on the verge of mental breakdown; always changing, always surprising and barely together. I ponder that in the car home for as long as possible, before I start the dreaded countdown again. Four days and fifteen hours until the Hogwarts Express leaves. I watch twelve episodes of Supernatural in a row in an attempt to drown it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Quick reminder this is set in 2020. If you forget that, not much makes sense.**

The drive to the station is spent fuming over the fact that the train goes non-stop from London to Hogwarts. It isn't logical. It pretty much goes the length of the country, so surely it would make sense for there to be stops for those of us who live in between? It makes no sense.

I'm really thinking about this because I want to distract myself from the knowledge that the next week will be awful. For some reason, my internet withdrawal symptoms get worse with every holiday. I don't see the logic behind this. That's not true; the logic is that I've been up for the past two sixty hours straight catching up on my tv shows. I like my old shows better, but they're finished, so I usually spend the first few weeks of the holidays re-watching them and reminiscing about the golden age of television (not that I was old enough to care at the time). Then I print off loads of fanfiction in a panic, to keep me going for the term, buy a load of books and despair for a few days. That's when the catch-up starts. I watch the remake of Smallville, a few vampire shows (don't judge, they're pretty good these days), a load of panel shows and sitcoms, and crime dramas. I like crime dramas way too much. My favourite is Criminal Minds, though I have no idea why because it's nowhere near as great as it was with the original cast. That really means 'I wish Spencer Reed was still in it, I ship him with JJ'. My usual rhythm of consuming constant media was disrupted by a two-day-long movie marathon of the highlights from the past few months, picked out by Kate and Dorian, hence the lack of sleep.

I have the prefect badge in my jacket pocket. I know that I need it, but I'm still happy in my state of denial. I stare at my tights and trace the swirls with my finger as I try to set myself onto a more healthy train of thought. I've been worried about James Potter. I hate that I'm so almost a Hufflepuff when I wish I was more Slytherin. It would be so much easier. I sort of wish I was a Gryffindor too, so I could be stupid enough not to notice how much better being a Slytherin would be. I don't hate Gryffindor; I just have a huge amount of contempt for most of them.

That's me, though; Ravenclaw — Ravenpuff, for all intents and purposes. It wasn't a surprise once I found out what the houses were all about. I can't help feel that it is the curse of the Ravenclaw to know that all we are to others is brains. We aren't into doing the right thing for its own sake, or being brave, loyal or honest, ambitious or cunning. These are all very admirable traits. Obviously we can still have some of these characteristics, buts it's always overshadowed by intelligence. I completely agree that ignorance is bliss, and I wish I was in another house. That is what being a Ravenclaw is; knowing that your intelligence is not a gift, so much as a giant huge burden. Perhaps I wouldn't mind being a witch so much if I was in another house. If I were a Hufflepuff I would give it a chance, accept the change and move on. In Gryffindor I would eagerly dive head first into this whole adventure thing. In Slytherin – the one I want most – I would simply make the most of it.

That's how I live my life these days, by asking myself 'What would Slytherin Eve do?'

I am accosted by Georgina Zabini around platform seven. Kate makes herself busy by giggling and flicking her hair at George's brother Peter while George hugs me and lets out a stream of words which seem to have no relation to each other whatsoever. All I hear after a second is the cursing of a crazy scot, which is a pretty good description for any speaking George does. Despite the fact that she is one of my best friends – first shell, along with Xander, who is probably on the platform by now with Scorpius – I make the conscious decision not to tell her about my new concern for James Potter. I stop thinking about it immediately to glare at Dorian, who should absolutely not be looking at my best friend that way. He is definitely not her type.

I do a very good impersonation of a happy person as I hug my family goodbye outside the barrier before pushing my trolley through. The fake smile stays plastered on my face. I think about how Scorpius is only second shell, but I actually talk to him about my feelings and all that. Perhaps it's odd that he is the only one in the wizarding world who ever hears how much I hate being a witch but I haven't promoted him. I note to fix that then I get into the dorms tonight.

I slide into an empty compartment with George right behind me. We sit and chat idly about the summer for a few minutes while peering out the window, searching for Xander and Scorpius.

My other first shell best friend is Alexandra Greengrass, Hufflepuff and cousin of Scorpius Malfoy. Somehow, they don't get along that well. Xander doesn't really get along with Slytherins, much the same way I despise members of my own house and most Gryffindors. George doesn't have that problem, because she's a Gryffindor, and when she's drunk or hungover anyone around is good for sleeping on and mooching food off. George isn't great at sobriety. She also isn't great at defying stereotypes.

I nod along and congratulate George for popping her cherry with a cute muggle girl. I don't really give a shit about this. I am really watching Rose and her family glance around, obviously looking for the Potters. They conclude that the Potters have yet to arrive and Rose starts towards the train, catching my eye through the window. She enters our compartment halfway through a telling of George's drunken summer escapades at her cousin's house in Italy and throws herself into the seat just inside the door.

"What's wrong, Weasley?" I pretend that George isn't talking and she stops pretty quickly with a sigh. She knows that concern is a big deal for me.

"Scorpius issues." That's nothing new. Though they both fancy each other and that, everybody but them knows, nobody says anything to either of them, under my instructions.

"Rose, have you ever considered that he's your best friend and you should just talk to him?"

"Yes. And I have come to the conclusion that it's a terrible idea. It would ruin our friendship."

Rose is what I call a Gryffinclaw. There are equivalents for Slytherin and Hufflepuff too. It's a term to describe people who could have been Ravenclaws if it wasn't for their stupid multi-faceted personalities. Rose, Scorpius (he's a Slytherin) and Alice Longbottom (Hufflepuff) all fall into this category. Albus Potter does not under any circumstances, on account of his being a ridiculously naïve moron.

The point is, usually a relationship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin wouldn't work, because that makes for one very irrational and moronic party and one ambitious and self-interested party. However, once one claw suffix is added to either party, it becomes must more realistic. I have lots of theories about houses and dating.

Slytherins and Gryffindors really should not date within their own houses. Not even a Slytherclaw- or two- can make a double-snake pairing work, but if both are Slytherpuffs (I know of only three Slytherpuffs, so this is purely speculation) I reckon it could last. Gryffindors do have some hope if either or both parties are claws, but Gryffinpuffs can literally only date actual Ravenclaws and hardcore Slytherclaws, because they are generally disasters. Pure Hufflepuffs can date any claw, and Ravenclaws? Literally anybody.

It doesn't make much sense that Ravenclaws as a house get the least romantic action by far.

I look at the Gryffinclaw, worrying about her Slytherclaw and wonder how two such clever people could be so ignorant to the feelings of the other.

"It wouldn't ruin your friendship, you're too close for that."

"No, don't tell him," George interrupts, her story already forgotten. "You just need to gauge his reaction." I stare at her in horror.

"You don't mean a seduction, right?" She laughs at me, more than is appropriate given the situation.

"Well, not of Scorpius, at any rate." Rose joins me in my staring in horror. Nobody says anything, and George continues to laugh for a good ten minutes, until we are joined by Xander and Scorpius, both with pretty cloudy faces.

"What's going on?" Scorpius is clearly trying to forget whatever fight he and Xander had earlier.

"Rose has a crush and we're giving her advice." George says this so casually I almost forget who Rose's crush is.

"Oh?" Gauge the reaction; surprised and a little disappointed. Aw, so cute! "And what's the plan so far?"

"I think she should just talk to him about it," I explain, fighting very hard to keep the smirk off my face, "But George reckons making him jealous to see if he likes her is the way to go. Opinions, Scorpius, Xander?" Xander shrugs and hides herself behind Quidditch Weekly. Scorpius, on the other hand, pauses for a moment.

"The crazy plotting actually sounds pretty cool," He admits. Careful now, Eve. Plots never end well on tv.

"Okay, this is just a suggestion, so open minds please people, but what if you pretended to be her boyfriend?" Scorpius, Rose and George all stare at me. Now I know how George felt. "Just to make him jealous, I mean."

Rose and Scorpius both make spluttering noises and go red.

"Nobody will believe it," Rose finally protests.

"You'd be surprised," I look at Scorpius who is slowly turning purple.

"I mean, if you aren't comfortable—"

"Actually, it's kind of a great idea, because I have my eye on someone too, and it kind of kills two birds, you know?" Very nice, Scorpius. Smooth.

"I really wish I didn't know so much about that, Scorp."

"Shut up, Rico."

Rico is me, by the way, because my surname is Richardson and Scorpius is weird.

"So Scorpius," George looks so smug, she's going to ruin the whole plan. "Who you lovin'?"

"Top secret information. Sorry."

That was to be expected. As the train begins to move, Albus Potter falls into our compartment and onto Xander, who doesn't take the intrusion of her personal space very well and pushes him on the ground.

"Albus, sweetheart, you have missed some shit." I begin explaining the day's events but am interrupted by Scorpius before I can explain the plan of action.

"Eve, don't you need to be up with the other prefects?"

That caused an eerie silence.

"Thank you very fucking much, Malfoy."

I slip out of my jacket and grab the pin, which I put onto the end of my skirt before leaving them to discuss this development.

As you can imagine, I am pretty late. The head girl, Emma Wetherby, berates me for that and my inappropriate clothing, which is ridiculous. Just because my t shirt has the word fuck on it and my skirt is pretty short doesn't mean – well, I'm wearing tights. It's cool, right? Right.

I don't really listen to the meeting, which is fine, and Connor Featherstone (great name, disappointingly average personality), the other fifth year Ravenclaw prefect, fills me in as we make our way down the train. First years are easily scared, it's almost funny. I manage not to punch a smarmy Gryffindor sixth year for remarking that my skirt and yellow docs make me look like a prostitute, which is disrespectful to prostitutes, plus the black t-shirt with yellow writing goes perfectly with the black skirt, black tights and yellow boots. I have a brief but lovely chat with Lorcan and Lysander Scamander, but my okay day doesn't last because when I get back to my friends, an argument has broken out between Al and Xander (Xander is winning. Poor Al) and Rose and Scorpius are not looking directly at each other. I let Captain Jack Harkness out of his box and he curls up with Scorpius.

I think about the Scorpius and Rose plan for the rest of the day. I decide to call it Operation Optician, because the point is to make them see more clearly. I decide that the plan as Rose knows it – make Scorpius jealous in a ridiculously elaborate way – will be called Operation Tiger, because Richard Dawkins wrote once that DNA (of a tiger, for example) only wants to replicate itself, but does so in the ridiculously elaborate way of making a tiger. It takes a bit longer to name the plan as Scorpius knows it – make Rose fall in love with you by pretending to be her boyfriend and making her jealous – but I eventually come up with Operation Paradox. I'm not even entirely sure why.

I became so caught up in all these operations that I forget to keep an eye on James at the feast, meaning I don't get an idea of him with people. The way people act when they are in company, the things they bottle up and hide away, and the things they choose to share, is pretty fascinating and says a lot, so I note to have a look in class. I also note that I'm terrible at reminding myself of things, so mental notes might not be the greatest way to do things, but I definitely can't write that stuff down, because it is not healthy. I don't remember to sort out the order of my friends, either.

I do sit in the dorm, wide awake, mildly annoyed by four people's worth of sleep noises, reading a research paper. I don't really take in the information, though, because I'm thinking about James Potter again, listing all the possible things that could be wrong with him. Then I go off on the usual angst-filled tangent, wishing I didn't care.

The next morning I glance towards the Gryffindor table and, instead of the intended observing, immediately catch the eye of Albus Potter, who must be visiting. Albus immediately makes his way over and interrupts my mission.

"Who does Scorpius fancy?"

"Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"Come on, just tell me. Is it Alice? It's Alice, isn't it?" I raise one eyebrow.

"It's not Alice. You have nothing to worry about in that department. Asked her out yet?"

"It sucks that you can do that."

"Believe me, Potter, I hate it too." We sit in silence for a moment as I inch a plate of sausages away from me. The smell of meat is sickening. Albus thinks I'm moving it towards him and pretty much devours the lot while I try to not projectile vomit in his face.

"Albus?"

"Mmm?"

"Your brother. Is he okay?"

"You know James?"

"Obviously not, or I would be having this conversation with him."

"I dunno. Were your feeling senses tingling?"

"Either call them my spidey senses or don't call them anything. But yeah, actually."

"So go talk to him about it." Before I can explain that that would be really odd and creepy, Scorpius makes his grand entrance.

"What on earth are you playing at?"

"I have no idea—"

"The weird plot, Eve."

"It's called Operation Paradox."

"I'm not going to ask about that. What are you playing at?"

"Hey Al, could you piss off for a bit so I can explain several things to Scorpius that would embarrass him if other people knew them?" Al, to give him credit, did piss off, and took it pretty well.

"You are to be the best pretend boyfriend. You hear me? Then, when she gets her guy, he won't compare and she'll see you with someone else and get jealous. Understood?" Scorpius stood up and walked towards the Slytherin table muttering about crazy bitches under his breath.

James had left the great hall by this point so I get up, bringing a handful of grapes with me, and start to wander towards the greenhouses. I considered Albus and Alice Longbottom, and how that made perfect sense. I start to wonder how to incorporate that into Operation Optician, but I stop myself, because there is no way Alice would be okay with my meddling. It's one thing to help Rose and Scorpius, but Alice is an entirely different bag of cats. I distract myself by wiggling my toes in my docs and considering my outfit; black skirt, patterned tights, white shirt, Ravenclaw bowtie (I spend a day looking all over Diagon Alley and I was not disappointed) and blazer, because I like blazers, okay? I decide on which pair of tights to wear tomorrow and considered doing something other than a ponytail with my hair when I notice movement behind me. I'm sitting on the ground now, back against greenhouse four, and mostly obscured by the shadow of the Venomous Tentacula on the other side of the glass.

This is when James Potter trips right over me in a comical fashion and falls in a heap beside me.

"Hello." I say, because I am nice.

"Um, hello. What'cha doing?" He brushes himself off and sits beside me.

"I'm forcing myself to think about tights so I don't meddle in Albus's love life."

"Albus has a love life?"

"No, because I am exercising self-control. He even told me who he fancies this morning so it's proving quite difficult to avoid plotting."

"What are you, cupid?"

"Actually, kind of. Ask Rose or Scorpius next time you're talking to them."

"You see that two?"

"Literally everyone sees that, bar the pair of them and Al. It's ridiculous."

"And what are you doing for them?"

"They each think I'm helping the other realise their feelings. It's pretty epic. They each think the other fancies someone, so to help the other; they are going to pretend to be together. They are the going to get their pretend crush, make the other jealous, and hey presto." He didn't say anything for a minute, as you would have expected if this came out during your first conversation with someone.

"That's evil and brilliant."

"Thank you very much. What are you up to these days?"

"Not much. Quidditch stuff mostly."

"You captain yet?"

"Nope. Heard from Connor that you got prefect, though. Congratulations."

"You don't know me very well, but I will not make a good prefect. I am far to… immature and disinterested."

"You're disinterested in being a prefect but interested in Al's love life?"

"Al's love life is way more interesting and eventful, plus it matters to me, because Al matters to me. And I hope that if I get all my friends significant others they won't care so much about my whole thing."

"You're whole… what thing?"

"I have issues." That kills the conversation pretty quickly.

"I'm James Potter, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

"Eve Richardson. Nice to meet you too."

This is the point when Professor Longbottom, walking straight past us towards the next greenhouse, then walks backwards and looks down at us.

"This isn't going to be a thing, is it?"

"Pardon, Professor?" They both look at me in disbelief.

"Eve," James exclaimed, "have you not noticed that people use your hangouts for snogging?"

"Are you kidding? I thought that was because I like quiet places and snogging people like quiet places. I didn't think it was a cause-and-effect relationship."

"I thought you were the super-observant kid?" Professor Longbottom, I think you have grossly misunderstood me.

"I notice people and their feelings and stuff, but only if I'm looking. I don't notice much where snogging people are concerned."

Other students start to arrive, and our odd little conversation comes to a natural close, leaving me furious at snogging people in general. Again.


End file.
